In Plain Sight

Joe started to answer when Monroe backed away from the top of the ridge. In a moment, Joe heard an engine flare and the grinding of gears before the truck drove off, leaving him there.

JOE STOOD IN the rain, thinking, running scenarios through his mind. They kept getting worse.

He got back inside the cab with Maxine. Even though the motor wasn’t running the battery still worked, as did his radio. He even had a cell-phone signal, although it was weak.

BEFORE CALLING RANDY Pope, Joe reached Bud Longbrake on the ranch. Bud had a one-ton flatbed with a winch and he was much closer to where Joe was stranded than any of the tow-truck drivers in town. Bud agreed to come rescue Joe, bring his truck back, and even lend Joe a ranch vehicle in the meantime. Bud was positively giddy when Joe talked with him.

“This rain just makes me happy,” he said. Joe could tell Bud was smiling by his voice. “It hasn’t rained this hard in three years.”

ROBEY WASN’T IN his office when Joe called. His secretary said he was trapped in his house because a flash flood had taken out the bridge that crossed over to the highway from Robey’s property. She told Joe that Robey’s phone was down now as well, as were most of the telephones in the valley, because lightning had struck a transformer and knocked the service out.

“What about his cell?” Joe asked.

“You can call it, I guess,” she said. “But I can see his cell phone sitting on his desk in his office. He must have forgotten to take it home with him last night.”

Joe rolled his eyes with frustration. “Please have him call me the minute he makes contact,” Joe said. “It’s important.”

“Will do,” she said. “Isn’t this great, this rain? We really needed it.”

“Yes,” Joe said.

THE NEXT CALL was to the FBI office in Cheyenne. Joe asked for Tony Portenson and was told Portenson was away from his desk.

“Tony, this is Joe Pickett,” he said on Portenson’s voice mail. “Can you please fax or e-mail me the file on John Kelly? I may have a lead for you.”

FURTHER DELAYING THE inevitable, Joe speed-dialed the Twelve Sleep County Sheriff’s Department and asked for McLanahan.

“McLanahan.” He sounded harried, high-pitched, and out of breath.

“Joe Pickett, Sheriff. I’m broken down on the border of the Thunderhead Ranch where I just had an encounter with Bill Monroe, although I don’t think that’s really his name.”

“I’m lost,” McLanahan said.

You sure are, Joe thought. He outlined his theory and told McLanahan about the yellow pickup and the investigation by the FBI.

McLanahan was silent for a moment after Joe finished, then said, “Are you sure you aren’t just obsessed by the guy?”

“What?”

“He’s the one who pounded you, right?”

“What difference does that make? You’ve got a warrant out for his arrest, even if I’m wrong about the rest of it. Why don’t you drive out there and take the guy down?”

McLanahan sighed. “Have you looked outside recently?”

“I am outside.”

“It looks like a cow pissing on a flat rock, this rain. We’re in a state of emergency right now. You can’t dump three inches of rain on a county that’s dry as concrete and expect it to soak in. We’ve got flash floods everywhere. Bridges are out. In town the river has jumped the banks in at least three places. We’ve got a mess here, Joe. I’ve got truckloads of sandbags on the way from Gillette. I can’t do anything until we get it under control.”

Joe thought, Man, oh man.

“I’ve gotta go,” McLanahan said. “Somebody just saw a Volkswagen Beetle float down First Street.”

JOE BREATHED IN and out, in and out, then direct-dialed Randy Pope’s office. He got the evil receptionist. The gleeful tone in her voice when he introduced himself told Joe all he needed to know.

“I told you I needed a new truck,” Joe said when Pope came on the line. “Because of this lousy equipment you gave me, a poacher and murder suspect has gotten away.”

Pope’s voice was dry, barely controlled. “Joe, when I ask that you call in immediately, I mean immediately. Not when you get around to it.”

“I was in pursuit of a murder suspect,” Joe said. “I couldn’t stop and call in at the time.”

“That was an hour ago.”

“Yes, and I called as soon as I could. I need to get this broken-down truck towed out of the middle of nowhere.”

Pope sighed, then said, “I got a call from Arlen Scarlett, Joe.”

Joe sat back. “I figured you would.”

“We’ve now got official protests lodged against you from both Arlen and Hank Scarlett. Think about it. The only thing those two seem to agree on is that you are completely out of control, and that reflects on me. You’re wasting time on a case totally out of our purview while game violations are going on in the middle of town.”

“And you’re only too happy to side with them,” Joe said.

“You’re fired, Joe,” Pope snapped.

He heard the words he had been expecting to hear. Nevertheless, Joe still had trouble believing it was actually happening.